


Expendable

by Ithiel_Dragon



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Major Character Injury, On Hiatus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 15:09:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12083610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ithiel_Dragon/pseuds/Ithiel_Dragon
Summary: Washington, now a recovery agent, responds to a priority one distress call to find Agent North Dakota K.I.A but South still alive.  He is ordered by command to kill Agent South and recover the equipment but he disobeys. Instead he makes plans to trap the person who has been targeting former Freelancer Agents and their AI.  Unfortunately his plan backfires when he is betrayed by South, shot in the back, and left for dead.  The only reason he survives is due to York's healing unit but even that might not be enough...





	Expendable

David had been shot a lot of times in the past.  He’d been shot five times alone during the Great War and he actually considered himself lucky.  He knew a lot of soldiers who’d come out of the war far worse for wear than he.  After joining Project Freelancer he found himself getting shot at a lot more often. He’d also been blown up, run over, set on fire, and fell off a hundred story building.  But thanks to his armor and equipment, again, he’d come out of it more or less in one piece.  At least physically. 

After being reassigned as Recovery One, he’d half expected his days of being shot at would be over.  After all, he was pretty much a glorified janitor at this point. Just cleaning up the mess.  Instead, he found himself getting shot at by people he used to call teammates.  Friends even. 

Wyoming to start with… and now… South. 

At this point, he should probably be used to being shot in the back. Figuratively.  Now literally.  He just… didn’t think it would hurt so much. 

Figuratively.  He’d never really gotten along all that well with South.  In fact, he'd always considered her a bitch.  Though he never said that aloud.  At least, not around her brother North who was still quite protective of his sister, bitch or no.  He _had_ liked North though, and finding him dead… It had hurt.  He’d forced himself not to show it, forced himself to be cold, hard, almost cruel, in front of North’s grieving sister… because that was the only way he could get through it.  He couldn't let them see how much it affected him.  Until command had ordered him to kill South and… he couldn’t do it.

Now, he couldn’t help but wonder if that had been command’s plan all along.  Order him to kill her so she would earn his trust, the enemy of my enemy, and all that.  If they’d known he would disobey orders.  Give Delta to her.  What if _he_ had been the bait to draw out the thing hunting his fellow Freelancers? He wouldn’t be surprised.  Expendable… that’s all he had ever been. 

Literally, it fucking hurt too.  He wasn’t sure if anything had ever hurt this badly before.  Wash had a vague recollection of thinking that every time he’d been shot, but this time it was probably true. Every nerve ending in his back felt like it was on fire.  He was pretty sure the bullet was still inside him somewhere.  That was actually probably a good thing.  Because even though the round had managed to penetrate his armor once, didn’t mean it would a second time. If the bullet had gone all the way through and bounced off the inside of his armor a few times… he’d definitely be dead by this point.  Though that might not be such a bad thing.  At least he wouldn’t be hurting so god damned much if he was dead.

He couldn’t move or feel anything beyond the agonizing pain in his back and for a terrifying moment he feared the bullet had severed his spinal cord.  What if he was crippled for the rest of his life?  Quickly he realized through his growing panic that might not matter, since the ‘rest of his life’ probably wasn’t going to be very long anyway.  He could feel his blood pooling inside his armor, hot, sticky, and… kind of gross really.

“It seems Agent South was not speaking the truth regarding a timed charge,” Wash overheard someone say nearby.  He couldn’t see who it was.  Couldn’t turn his head to look. He thought he should recognize the voice but… it was difficult to concentrate.  His head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton and his limbs felt heavy.  He felt like he was sinking… or melting… but he couldn’t be melting, he was too cold for that. 

There was a low rumbling growl, then the voice again.

“No matter.  We will find her again.  She will not get far.  Retrieve the armor enhancement,” the voice… he should know it… he should… there was the sound of a metal boot scraping against gravel, and then suddenly Wash was being roughly turned over onto his back.  If he thought the pain was bad before, it was nothing compared to the agony that flared through his chest at the abrupt movement. He couldn’t have stopped the choked whimper that escaped his throat if he tried. 

The rough hands on him abruptly stilled.

There came that same strange, familiar, hissing growl again, and the voice answered.

“Agent Washington is not quite dead either.  Ah, he possesses York’s healing unit.  That explains it.  Still, I doubt even with the healing unit he will survive for long without medical attention,” that strange echoing voice confirmed Wash’s assessment.  He was pretty much screwed, “It may be kinder to simply end his suffering now, Agent Maine.”

Maine?  But… Maine was dead… wasn’t he?  They told him he was…

Wash forced his eyes open.  Everything was too bright and too dark at the same time.  It was difficult to focus.  Colors melted together into indistinguishable shapes.  He thought he saw... flames… Then there was a blur of movement in the corner of his vision, but he still couldn’t turn his head, much to his frustration.  Suddenly the flames melded together with white and gold as something leaned over him. 

Wash tried to speak but instead of words only a wet ragged cough escaped his throat.  He tasted blood.  Oh god… he was going to die… this was really it… colors faded away to black.  At least it didn’t hurt so much anymore. 

* * *

He heard rain.  Tap.  Tap.  Tap.  Raindrops hitting a metal roof.  There was the faint smell of smoke.  Blood.  Antiseptic. His head felt heavy.  An intense ache throbbed behind his eyes in time with his heartbeat.  Something tight was wrapped around his chest.  It was hard to breathe.  Every breath hurt.  His skin felt hot and oversensitive.  He felt like he was burning from the inside out.

“He has a fever,” a soft, almost childlike, voice whispered in the dark.  It sounded concerned.  He felt something cool press against his face.  Soft and wet.  Water dripped down his skin and it felt like heaven.  A broken moan escaped his throat as he tried to turn his face, seeking more of the cool touch. 

The touch paused, almost hesitant, before it continued.  Moved lower, down his neck and chest.

“Most likely an infection,” a different voice spoke.  Or was it more than one?  It was almost two voices speaking as one.  Melodious, almost singing.  Cool and warm at the same time.  He thought he should recognize them.  Thought he should know… but it was so difficult to concentrate.  His thoughts flowed thick and heavy like molasses.  Sounds faded in and out. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed.  It could be minutes, hours, or days.  

He felt a pinch in his right elbow.  Felt something burn underneath his skin.  He tried to jerk away from the sensation, but something tight around his wrists halted his movement.  The feeling produced an instantaneous and primal fear inside of him and he began to struggle weakly against the bindings. 

“It’s for your own good, Agent Washington.  You wouldn’t want to rip your stitches, now would you?” a strange echoing voice, meant to be soothing, but for some reason only made him more afraid.  Made him struggle harder.  His heart stuttered in his chest.  The pain was almost unbearable. 

Big hands suddenly gripped his shoulders.  Strong hands.  They restrained him easily.  But they were also surprisingly gentle.  A low rumbling purr penetrated through the fog of panic clouding his mind.  Familiar.  Why was it so familiar?

“You’re all right, Agent Washington.  You’re safe,” the child's voice soothed.  For some reason, he knew he could trust that voice, even if he couldn’t trust the other’s.  His ragged breathing began to even and his heart rate slowed as he sunk back down into unconsciousness. 

When he woke again, everything still hurt.  His head.  His chest.  His entire body felt heavy and sluggish.  It was hard to think.  His vision was dark and blurry.  He thought he saw something move in the shadows but try as he might he couldn’t focus on it.  He tried to speak, but his voice caught in his throat like jagged glass.  The only sound he could make was a weak moan. 

Something was pressed against his chapped lips.  He felt the splash of something cold and he parted his lips eagerly.  The water had a faint metallic aftertaste to it, but at that moment it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.  The water hit his parched throat like rain in a desert.  The few sips he managed before the canteen was drawn away wasn’t nearly enough. 

“Please…” Wash barely managed to choke out, blinking dizzily at the dark shape hovering nearby. 

“Easy now.  You must go slowly, Agent Washington.  Too much too soon will only cause you discomfort,” a voice cautioned, and as much as he wanted to deny it, his stomach was already groaning dangerously from the small bit of liquid he had drank.  Wash let his head fall back with a moan of discomfort.  A wet cloth was immediately pressed to his sweaty forehead. 

“That’s it.  Easy,” two gentle voices sang like music.  A low growl, almost soothing, followed.  Once his stomach had settled, the canteen was pressed to his lips again and he was allowed a few more sips.  He wasn’t sure how long this went on.  It seemed to take forever before his thirst was finally sated.  He drifted back to sleep almost immediately afterwards.  The voices kept singing to him even after he slept. 

When he woke again, thankfully his thoughts were clearer.  Unfortunately, he still felt like he had been hit by a truck… or more accurately, shot in the back.  Wash couldn’t help the groan of discomfort that left his lips.  He really, really, hated being shot. 

But, he was alive.  He supposed he should be thankful for that.  Maybe he would be, later, once he wasn’t hurting so damned much.  It was a little difficult to feel thankful for anything at the moment. 

His head throbbed as he looked around, attempting to get his bearings.  Wherever he was, it was dark.  He could barely make out the outlines of whatever room he was in.  It… didn’t seem like a hospital room.  Though his chest was wrapped thickly with bandages, the air was missing that sterile smell he usually associated with hospitals. 

He attempted to sit up and immediately regretted it.  His pain level went from a mere uncomfortable throbbing to almost screaming agony.  Wash bit his lip hard enough to taste blood to keep himself from crying out. 

“You shouldn’t try to move,” a childlike voice said softly.  Wash’s eyes immediately snapped open, blinking against the pained tears in an attempt to find the source of the voice.  His eyes focused on the small glowing form of Theta.  Wash blinked in confusion.  He knew he had recognized that voice, but… was he dreaming?

“Theta?” Wash managed to croak out. 

“Hello, Agent Washington.  It’s nice to see you again,” Theta replied softly, shifting a little bit closer to him on the bed.  Wash tried to reach up to touch the small hologram, only for his bound wrists to come up short.  He immediately tensed, which unfortunately did nothing to help the pain in his chest. 

“What’s… going on?  Theta? What are you…”

“We… thought it would be easier… to talk to me first.  Because we are friends. We are still friends, right, Agent Washington?” Theta asked cautiously. 

“We? Friends?  North?” Wash stuttered in confusion, but at the mention of North’s name the small AI visibly deflated, and then Wash remembered.  North was dead. 

“He’s gone…” Theta whispered sadly.  The pain in the young AI’s voice was unmistakable, and Wash immediately wanted to comfort him, but the pieces of his memory were still falling into place.  If Theta was here then… the one who had taken the AI… the one who had killed North…

Wash’s hands clenched into fists. 

“Who is ‘we’ Theta?” he demanded.  The AI flickered and nervously shrank back away from him.  Afraid, even though Wash was completely defenseless at the moment and they both knew it.  The AI suddenly disappeared, and Wash tried to sit up again against his better judgement

“Theta!  Wait!” Wash hissed in pain as he fell back against the bed.  Suddenly another form appeared in the darkness.  One that the former Freelancer was all too familiar with.

“That wasn’t very nice, Agent Washington,” Sigma chastised him, red flames lighting up the darkened room far more than Theta had.  Two other holograms also appeared as well.  Twin images of each other, one blue and one orange.  They whispered a soothing melody to him in an attempt to calm him, but Wash was far beyond being calm at this point. 

“If you struggle, you will only hurt yourself, Agent Washington,” Sigma warned, but Wash was no longer focused on him.  Rather the large armored form now highlighted clearly in the darkness by the multiple AI holograms hovering around him.  Theta peered at Washington cautiously from behind the bulky armored shoulder, but all David could really see was his own reflection in the familiar gold visor of Agent Maine’s helmet.  


End file.
